The Angel of Christmas Present
by LadyWallace
Summary: After stumbling across an orphanage with a corrupt leader, Aziraphale and Crowley make it a point to give the children a Christmas. But they need to change the man's mind first. Aziraphale has a few ideas that are rather Dickensien.


**A Christmas request for Tessseagull who wanted a Good Omens story with Christmas Carol vibes. Hope you enjoy! ^_^**

* * *

The Angel of Christmas Present

A Good Omens Fanfic

_After stumbling across an orphanage with a corrupt leader, Aziraphale and Crowley make it a point to give the children a Christmas. But they need to change the man's mind first. Aziraphale has a few ideas that are rather Dickensien. _

It was Christmas Eve when Crowley knocked on the door to Aziraphale's bookshop.

Aziraphale was surprised to say the least, not thinking that the demon would want to be out at all what with the copious amounts of good will and cheer in the air.

He was even more surprised, however, when he found out exactly why Crowley had come.

"I need some help, angel, a favor," Crowley said, shuffling his feet a bit awkwardly on the stoop.

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighed heavily, casting a regretful glance back to his lovingly decorated shop and the books awaiting him for his holiday reading. "It is Christmas tomorrow. Can't it wait until after the holiday?"

"'Fraid not," Crowley told him. "Come on. You'll understand once I show you."

Aziraphale really had no choice but to follow the demon due to his curiosity. They got into the Bentley and drove to the outskirts of London and parked in front of a large building that looked like it could do with a little work. However, they had parked behind a brand-new Jaguar with shiny red paint, so the owner must be a bit well-to-do.

"What is this place?" Aziraphale asked as they got out.

Crowley pointed to a sign posted off to one side. "It's an orphanage."

Aziraphale frowned, wondering why the demon would take him here but Crowley was already moving toward the building and Aziraphale hurried to keep up.

"Found this place by accident, and decided to look into it. The man who runs this place, Matthew Preston, is a greedy bastard," Crowley explained. "The kids are living in terrible conditions, they only have old clothes which aren't warm enough, and he gives them cheap and terrible food."

"But surely organizations like this can beg charity donations," Aziraphale said.

"They do," Crowley growled. "That's the problem. It all goes to Preston who keeps it for himself." He nodded behind them. "Where do you think he got that car?"

"Oh," Aziraphale said and hurried to keep up with Crowley. "I don't understand though. It's terrible, but why are we here?"

Crowley turned around to face him. "Because Preston is spending all the money that was supposed to go to giving the kids a nice Christmas on himself. I want to stop him."

"Why, Crowley," Aziraphale said, smiling warmly at his friend. "I didn't expect something like that from you!"

"Yeah, well, don't go spreading word around," Crowley muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "After all, I'm not really supposed to have anything to do with Christmas."

"Well, no, I would think not," Aziraphale agreed. "You being a demon and all."

"I do like Christmas," Crowley protested sharply. "No one said I can't actually _like_ Christmas, just not allowed to say it." He smirked slightly. "You know how they start putting decorations in the shops and playing Christmas music in October now?"

"Oh, that was you?" Aziraphale asked, wrinkling his brow in annoyance. "I love the holiday season, but even I find that to be a bit much."

Crowley grinned. "Yeah, well, consumerism and greed is good for Hell business and unfortunately, Christmas promotes it in spades. I got a commendation for that." He sobered then. "This, however, is not the kind of greed I'm talking about. Greed for the sake of other people and general happiness is fine, this…"

"Well, I might argue the point that greed is never good, but, I think I see what you are getting at," Aziraphale said as they continued on down the path to the door. "So what exactly are we doing?"

"We, angel, are going to offer a substantial charitable donation and see how it is taken."

"How is that going to turn out any different from all the rest?" Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked at him, raising an eyebrow above his tinted glasses. "Well, I was hoping you might be able to, ya know, push a little good will into him or something."

Aziraphale halted, feeling slightly insulted. "Crowley, I can't just go around changing people's minds!"

"Why not? Just miracle him to be nice for one day."

"That's not how it works!" Aziraphale protested. "Humans have free will, dear, for good or bad. I don't even think I _could_ change his mind if I wanted to, and I'm not going to try! It would mean nothing if I just up and changed his mind for him."

"But it's for the children!" Crowley protested.

"Who would be just as bad off once my miracle wore off," Aziraphale said. "We'll find another way."

Crowley grumbled but they continued to the door and rang the old bell there.

The door was opened by a waif of a girl who couldn't have been older than ten, wearing a too-small greyish blue dress.

Aziraphale smiled kindly at her. "Why, hello. Is Mr. Preston in?"

She nodded and turned away, inviting Crowley and Aziraphale into the foyer. The inside of the building looked just as unkempt as the outside. Clean, yes, but falling apart. In fact, as Aziraphale glanced into the next room that seemed to be some sort of dining hall, he saw two other children, rather small for the task mopping the huge floor. He frowned. This place reminded him of orphanages he had seen during the turn of the century. He had hoped that these sorts of places didn't exist anymore, and was suddenly glad that Crowley had brought his attention to this one.

The girl who had let them in began to cough, covering her mouth with the crook of her arm. Aziraphale frowned and reached out.

"Why, have you caught a cold, my dear?" he asked and gently performed a healing miracle with a brief touch to her shoulder. She straightened, surprised and looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes before she shook her head as if in disbelief.

"I'll get Mr. Preston, sirs," she said and hurried up the stairs to the second floor.

"This place is practically Victorian," Aziraphale whispered to Crowley.

"I know," the demon said, jaw tight. "How much do you want to bet that they don't even provide cold medicine for these kids?"

Aziraphale felt his heart ache for the children but was startled at a voice shouting from above.

"I told you not to disturb me!"

"But, sir, there's two men…"

"Oh, very well! Get back to your work, Abigail!"

A door slammed above and footsteps came down the stairs. A middle-aged man appeared, clearing his throat, and tugging at his expensive suit as he saw them, putting on a tight smile.

"Hello, I'm Matthew Preston, how may I help you today?"

"Hi, Anthony Crowley," Crowley said, stepping forward to shake the man's hand, clutching it rather more tightly than he needed to, causing Preston to wince slightly. "We're from the, er, Soho Orphans Aid Association and we would like to make a donation of food and gifts to the children for Christmas."

Preston's mouth pressed into a firm line. "That is very kind of you, but we have already provided everything the children might need for the holiday."

Aziraphale noticed several children gathering in the doorways watching them.

"Oh, well, that's too bad, there must be something we can do," Aziraphale said.

"What if we just write a check for you to use for whatever you want?" Crowley asked.

The man's eyes lit up with greediness and he relaxed slightly. "That might be better at this point. That way I can be sure to get the children what I know they need."

"I'm sure," Crowley muttered to himself and produced a checkbook from his coat. "Will twenty thousand pounds suffice?"

The man was practically salivating. "My, what a generous offer."

"We have many wealthy patrons who want to do good for the community," Crowley gave a tight smile, scribbled out the check and tore it out, handing it to the man. "Here you go. Merry Christmas."

Preston barely wasted time in bidding them goodbye before he hurried up the stairs.

Aziraphale turned to the lurking children and smiled. "Merry Christmas," he told them before he and Crowley left.

"Did you see that?" Crowley demanded, shaking his head in disgust. "What a bastard."

"I'm sure he'll want to get to the bank as soon as possible before it closes for the holiday," Aziraphale said as they got into the Bentley. Sure enough, Preston was out the door in a flash, getting into his Jag and speeding off. "Will the check even work?"

Crowley shrugged. "I want it to, it will. Let's just hope he doesn't spend it right now while we're trying to come up with a plan."

"And what exactly are we going to do?" Aziraphale asked. "He'll never spend that money on the children himself!"

"No, that's why we'll spend it for him. In his name," Crowley said as he began driving. "Once it's in his account, we can order whatever we want for the children and he won't be able to take it back once it shows up at the door."

Aziraphale frowned. "But Crowley that won't change anything! There's no way he'll let the children keep it. He obviously doesn't care enough about what people think about him to hide the fact he never uses the money for the orphans. And he still wouldn't have learned anything!"

"Well then what do you suggest?" Crowley demanded, irritation seeping into his voice.

Aziraphale thought for a moment before an idea sprung into his head. "Oh. Oh! I have a brilliant idea!"

"What?" Crowley demanded, glancing over at him.

Aziraphale smiled, getting more and more excited about his plan by the minute. "Let's go back to the bookshop. We have some planning to do."

* * *

"_This. This is what_ we're going to do!"

Crowley stared at Aziraphale blankly as he held up a well-kept book with gold foil on the cover spelling out "A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens".

"A book. That's your big idea?" he asked skeptically.

"What's _in_ the book," Aziraphale said, flipping to a page with a woodcut illustration on it showing a man cowering in his bed while an ominous figure hovered over him. "In this book, Ebenezer Scrooge is a greedy businessman who only cares about making money. He won't even help his employees and their families during Christmas time. Then on Christmas Eve night, he's visited by the ghost of his dead business partner who tells him that once Scrooge dies it will be too late to fix anything and he'll have regrets and spend eternity in unrest like him. So he tells Scrooge that three ghosts will visit him during the night to show him things that will change his mind."

Crowley was staring at him blankly. "And, how is this going to help us help the kids?"

"Don't you see?" Aziraphale asked. "_We_ will be the ghosts, visiting Preston to change his mind, but of his own free will. In the book, the Ghost of Christmas Future shows Scrooge that no one will care when he dies, other than that they won't have to pay their debts to him anymore and when he wakes up on Christmas Day he has a change of heart and everything he saw in the future doesn't happen because he helps out the people he would have otherwise hurt."

"And you think this will work with a man in the 21st century who probably doesn't believe in ghosts?" Crowley asked blandly.

"It doesn't matter if he believes it after it happenes," Aziraphale told him. "All that matters is that it gives him a change of heart." He handed the book to the demon. "Do you have a better idea?"

Crowley flipped through the book, looking at the pictures. "I guess not."

Aziraphale beamed. "Oh, this is so exciting! I know this will work! Oh, Charles would be so excited to know what we were doing!"

"Well, I hope your pal's narrative is accurate because we only have one shot at this," Crowley said.

"Exactly, we need to start planning."

* * *

_It was the middle of the night _and Crowley and Aziraphale parked a little down the street from the orphanage to avoid suspicion.

"I still don't know about this, angel," Crowley muttered as they crept around the back of the building. "This seems a little far-fetched to me."

"Just do what we talked about and I'm sure it will go perfectly fine."

Crowley sighed. "Okay, so, am I Christmas past or…"

"No, I'm Christmas Past," Aziraphale said with a small pout. "I _inspired_ that character! Also, perhaps Christmas Present, if we're being honest…After Dickens saw how much Christmas pudding I could eat." He looked a little insulted but shook it off. "But no, I need you to set the scene."

"You mean ringing bells and rattling chain and all that nonsense? How many bells do you think are even in there, angel? It's not like there're servants waiting to hear them."

"You don't need bells and chains to make the sounds. Use your imagination. Improvise!" Aziraphale reminded him and Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Alright, well, I suppose now is as good a time as any," Crowley said and snapped his fingers, opening the door that led into the kitchen.

Aziraphale stepped in behind him and patted him on the shoulder. "You can do this!"

"Thanks for the confidence," Crowley said blandly.

The house was silent. Aziraphale made it so that all the children would sleep through the night. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten them. He and Crowley stood in the middle of the house, looking around.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley huffed and raised his hand.

The sounds of bells, some tinkling, others like clock chimes began to roll through the building. To that, Crowley added the sound of rattling and dragging chains, going up the stairs and across the hallway on the second floor that led to Preston's bedroom.

"How much of this should I do?" Crowley whispered.

"Enough to get his attention and allow me to get into position," Aziraphale said and hurried up the stairs to get ready for his part. He closed his eyes and did his best to take on a good representation of the figure in the book—one, he was proud to note, that he had helped Dickens figure out.

He finally heard stirring in Preston's room.

"What are you doing out there? Shut up and get in your beds, or there will be no breakfast!" His door whipped open and the sounds stopped instantly. Preston stood staring out into the darkness, confusion on his face before he shook his head and closed the door before going back inside.

Aziraphale took this as his cue. He crept toward the door in his disguise, and the sound of bells and chains started rattling again.

Preston's footsteps hurried to the door and he ripped it open.

"I said—"

He staggered back at the sight of Aziraphale, and he knew he must make a frightening sight. He heightened the light of his halo so his countenance was nothing but a blazing light, and he wore long white robes, flowing eerily in a breeze that couldn't be seen. To top it off, he allowed himself to hover slightly over the ground.

"What the…" Preston gasped out.

"Matthew Preston," Aziraphale said in a commanding, almost condemning tone of voice.

"What is this? Who are you?" The man had staggered backwards until he tripped and collapsed on his bed. He scrambled over it to put the piece of furniture between him and Aziraphale.

"I am the Past, Matthew Preston. _Your_ past," Aziraphale told him, lifting a hand and floating over toward the terrified man.

"I'm warning you, get out or I'll call the police!" He was fumbling for a phone, but Aziraphale was in front of him and Preston had backed himself into a corner.

Aziraphale held out a hand. "Come. I will show you something."

"No way," Preston whimpered. "Get away from me!"

Aziraphale reached out and grabbed his wrist.

Now, time travel was not something that Aziraphale did, but he could access a person's memories, and he spent several seconds in Preston's mind, sorting through Christmas memories until he found something that could work. While they never left the room, he created the illusion that they had stepped into the past.

It was a small house on the outskirts of London. The living room had been decorated with some sparse Christmas lights and a small tree. A boy and a girl sat among festive paper while their parents looked on.

"Do you remember this?" Aziraphale asked, glancing toward Preston who had a pale, wide-eyed expression.

"Y-Yes," he said. "How are we…"

Aziraphale turned back to the scene as it continued.

"Did you like all your presents?" the mother asked almost tentatively

The boy looked at the small pile of gifts, then said. "I do, I just really wanted a bike."

"I know, dear, but we don't have enough money for a bike," the mother said.

"But that's why I asked Santa," the boy said.

"Santa isn't real. You're too old to believe in things like that," his father snapped angrily, standing up from the couch and heading into the kitchen where the click of glass could be heard.

Preston followed the man with his eyes as the boy drooped. "Maybe if he hadn't drunk away all our money…" He pressed his lips together and turned to Aziraphale. "Why the hell are you showing me this?"

"All will become clear by the end of the night," Aziraphale assured him. "Now come." He chose another memory and the scenery changed to the same girl and boy but a few years later. Standing with their father in a graveyard. Snow was on the ground and their breath puffed into the air.

"That's…no, why are you showing me this?" Preston demanded again. "I need to wake up!"

"It's not a dream," Aziraphale told him firmly.

"Then what is it?" Preston demanded. "How are you doing this?"

"Your mother died on Christmas Eve," Aziraphale said, trying not to let the sympathy he was feeling into his voice. It was indeed a sad scene. "Your father drank too much to do much for you and your sister and you had to fend for yourselves most of the time. Your mother was the only one who held the family together."

"Stop this!" Preston asked.

"Perhaps this was why you started a charitable organization for orphans, and yet you do the exact same thing your father did. You spend the money on yourself. Why?"

Preston's face paled again. "Who are you to know all this?!"

"I told you, I am your past, Matthew Preston."

Aziraphale gripped his shoulder and spun him into another memory. This one showed Preston, now a young man, walking through the park with a woman. There were lights strung through the trees, and it looked like snow in the air. Carolers could be heard nearby and young Preston was actually smiling.

Aziraphale looked over at the Preston of the present and saw his jaw clenched in anger.

"Why this?" he demanded.

Aziraphale put a finger to his lips.

"I didn't think you liked the holidays," the girl said.

Preston shrugged. "It's okay out here with you."

He reached into his pocket, fiddling with a small velvet box there, when the girl sighed and stopped walking, turning to him.

"Look, I need to tell you something," she said. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Preston stopped, confusion and anger washing over his face. "What? Why?"

She sighed and bit her lip. "Look, I know you're not really that bad of a guy, Matt, but you're just too…" She shrugged. "I don't like where your head is at these days. Ever since you got that promotion all you can think about is money. And you're not good to your employees."

Preston glowered at her. "It's business! You can't hate me for knowing how to run a business!"

"You laid off Harry right before Christmas!"

"He couldn't cut it with the hours I needed him to work."

"He has a family!" She shook her head. "I don't know why I bother. Sometimes I just think there's a robot wearing your skin. You never think of anyone but yourself." She turned and walked away leaving Preston behind.

"If you think that way, I don't need you!" he yelled after her. "I'm better off by myself anyway!"

"Okay, stop this!" Preston pleaded with Aziraphale.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?" Aziraphale asked.

"Why should I?" Preston demanded. "You're not even real. This is all just a dream."

"Is it?" Aziraphale asked. "Keep thinking that if you like." He snapped his fingers and they were back in Preston's room.

"There will be more after me," he said. "Perhaps they can help you see the error of your ways more readily."

"Wait—!"

The angel snapped his fingers again and Preston fell into his bed, asleep.

Aziraphale returned to his normal form and hurried quietly downstairs to see Crowley.

"Well?" the demon asked. "A bit dramatic, wasn't it?"

Aziraphale shot him a look. "I was just trying to be accurate. But now I need to take on the persona of Christmas Present." He hurried into the dining room and began to craft his new disguise.

"You are enjoying this way too much," Crowley muttered. "Is this even going to work?"

"That was just to soften him up," Aziraphale said. "This one should help him begin to see just what's going on."

He changed into his new persona, again being as accurate to the book as possible. He gave himself a luxurious green robe and materialized a feast on the table in front of him.

"He'll be waking up soon," Aziraphale said.

As if on cue, the sound of Preston's door opening was heard upstairs. He hesitated, as if looking around, and then came down the stairs.

Aziraphale shooed Crowley out of sight before he created an aura around himself, illuminating the room and eventually bringing Preston there.

"What the…"

"Matthew Preston, do come, dear boy!" Aziraphale said, effecting a jolly atmosphere, grinning as he reached for a plate of figgy pudding. Too bad it was only an illusion.

Preston was frozen. "How the hell did you get in here? And the food…"

"You spoke with a friend of mine," Aziraphale told him. "Past. I am Present. He wasn't sure you had learned what you were supposed to, so he called me to help."

Preston began to look angry. "Look, whoever put you up to this, just get out, okay? I'm not in the mood."

Aziraphale rose, towering over Preston in his new form so that the man cowered in front of him. He held out a hand. "I think you will find you don't have much of a choice."

Preston tried to back away, but Aziraphale grabbed his wrist, and whisked him into another mindscape, though this one, his own. Searching the consciousnesses of people going about their Christmas celebrations.

Children put out stockings and milk and cookies for Santa, couples kissed under the mistletoe. People laughed and danced at Christmas parties. Families gave thanks around tables spread with all kinds of food.

"In recent decades, Christmas has become rather consumer related," Aziraphale said as Preston's eyes were wide as he watched the spinning scenes. "But at its heart, it is still a time of peace and good will. It brings families together, sometimes, it's the only time of year that happens."

"Sometimes that's not what you want," Preston told him blandly. "Sometimes family is better off apart."

Aziraphale turned to him. "Not everyone shares that sentiment."

He had been searching for a particular consciousness and finally found it, settling into it as a scene spread before them in a small cottage somewhere in the Midlands. A woman sat reading to two little girls, huddled together happily as they listened to "A Night Before Christmas."

"Does your sister agree?" Aziraphale asked Preston.

"Julie," the man said then shook his head. "But they hardly have any money, not much better than we were as kids. They live in a tiny apartment. I tried to give her some money but she refused."

"You don't need money to be happy," Aziraphale told him. "Sometimes family is enough."

"It wasn't enough for us," Preston said bitterly as he watched with an odd mix of emotions as Julie kissed her sleeping daughters on the foreheads before she crept to the door. A man stood waiting there and they smiled at each other and wrapped their arms around each other's waists before sneaking off to put a few meager presents under the tree.

"You don't think she's happy with her husband and their daughters?" Aziraphale asked.

Preston pressed his lips into a thin line. "That's not the point. She never even tried to make her situation better."

Aziraphale wanted to protest, not understanding why this man didn't see the point of what he was trying to get at. Was he really that dense, or was it just that he was unredeemable?

Aziraphale personally didn't believe anyone was unredeemable, but some were more difficult to sway than others.

"And what if Julie was to die like your mother?" Aziraphale inquired sharply, still a little frustrated. "What if her husband lost himself like your father did? Would you step up to help their daughters?"

"I…" Preston stuttered. "Of course."

"Tell me, Matthew Preston, would you treat them the same way as all those orphans you have under your care? Making them do chores and stealing their food and clothing and warmth for yourself?"

"I don't—"

"You spend the charity money for your own gain! Would you do the same if they were your sister's children?" Aziraphale demanded.

Preston's face was white but he didn't say anything. He simply shook his head.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line. "Very well. I can see your heart is still not in the right place."

"No, wait!"

But Aziraphale had snapped his fingers again, and returned Preston to his bed.

He found Crowley and huffed. "He really is a hard one to crack."

Crowley shrugged. "Well, just leave this last one to me. He won't know what hit him."

Aziraphale bit his lip but nodded. "Make him shake. This is the last chance we'll have."

Crowley grinned and went to play his part.

* * *

_Preston awoke to Crowley_ standing by his bedside, wearing a dark, hooded cloak that kept his face in shadow. The man started, causing Crowley to grin in his hood, and then lift a bony hand and beckon.

"No, no way!" Preston said, before Crowley simply reached out and grabbed hold of him.

He swept Preston into a scene of his own creation. Showing the children of the orphanage standing in front of a television which was playing a news report.

The reporter was saying, "In local news, a charity owner died in a fatal car crash. New investigations show that he may not have been as charitable as he led others to believe. More later tonight at eleven."

"Good riddance," said a boy, and most of the other children nodded in agreement.

A motherly woman began to round them up. "Come then, dears, supper time! And there's something lovely for pudding!"

"What is that? Who are they talking about?" Preston asked.

Crowley didn't say anything, simply grabbed his wrist again and showed him another scene. They now stood in a graveyard. Where Preston's sister and her family stood beside a freshly dug grave. She was dry eyed, her expression pinched.

"Who was he, Mummy?" one of the girls asked.

There was a long pause as Julie's husband put a hand on her shoulder, before she answered. "No one, darling." And then they walked away.

"Who is that?!" Preston demanded, looking like he was on the verge freaking out—just where Crowley wanted him. "Whose grave is that?"

Crowley pointed slowly toward the stone as he caused a dramatic light to fall upon it, illuminating Preston's name.

The man stared in horror, blood draining from his face.

"No. No, it can't be."

"MATTHEW PRESTON," Crowley spoke in an ageless and condemning voice. "YOU WILL DIE WITH NOTHING BUT DERISION FOR YOUR NAME. IF YOU DO NOT CHANGE YOUR WAYS, THIS WILL BE YOUR FUTURE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED." Then he disappeared, leaving the man frantically looking around for a way out for a few seconds before Crowley snapped his fingers and the scene disappeared.

* * *

_Aziraphale and Crowley_ sat in the Bentley as the dawn was coming up, watching the orphanage.

"You think it worked?" Crowley asked.

"You seemed quite convincing," Aziraphale said then sighed. "It was all we could do."

"Yeah, I guess it was."

A light came on in Preston's room and the two sat up straighter. They saw his silhouette walking back and forth for a few minutes, before he disappeared.

A second later, Crowley got an incoming call. He glanced toward Aziraphale, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, answer it," Aziraphale urged, just as surprised as Crowley about this development.

Crowley answered it a little cautiously. "Hello?"

"Um, hi, this is Matthew Preston, from the orphanage," came the halting voice. "Is this Mr. Crowley?"

"Er, yes," Crowley said. "What can I do for you?"

"Sorry to ring you so early. It's just that…well, there was a mistake, and…" he sighed over the phone before his voice gained strength. "Well, our Christmas plans won't work out anymore. I was wondering if you still have the presents you mentioned before? I can even give the money back to you if you want…"

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a look, Aziraphale beamed.

"Oh, quite all right, of course," Crowley said. "Keep the money. My colleague and I will be over with the presents soon."

"Great!" Relief was heard in his voice. "Great! Thank you. Thank you so much."

Crowley ended the call and grinned. "Wahoo?"

"Wahoo," Aziraphale agreed, feeling warmth flood through his chest. "I suppose we need to rustle up some charitable gifts, then?"

"I think we can manage," Crowley said.

* * *

_An hour later_, they appeared in front of the orphanage again with huge sacks of presents. Preston hurried outside and helped them haul the gifts into the dining hall.

Somehow during all this, lights strung themselves across the room, and a huge tree appeared in a corner for the presents to go under. The smell of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen, and Preston didn't even bat his eye once.

"Thank you so much," he said again, touching the back of his neck sheepishly. "I, um…I've been going through a rough patch—for a while. I guess I need to sit back and take some time to relax during the holidays. Figure out my priorities."

Aziraphale smiled and touched his shoulder gently. "Thank you, Mr. Preston. It's always nice to be allowed to help out the children on Christmas."

The man gave a hesitant smile, but swiftly turned as the patter of small feet began to congregate. Children peeked into the room, curious and disbelieving.

Preston turned to them and they started to cower back until he smiled.

"Hey!" he said. "Merry Christmas!"

The kids looked on in disbelief, as if unsure this was real.

Crowley grinned at them. "Well, come on, what are you waiting for? There's presents to be had!"

It was a free-for-all and Preston and the angel and the demon stood to one side and watched as the children joyfully search under the tree, finding the presents addressed to each of them before tearing into the paper.

Aziraphale felt good will begin to seep through the orphanage, coming from Matthew Preston. He still had a ways to go, but Aziraphale wasn't worried. There was, however, still one more thing that could help the man solidify his new, kinder persona.

Aziraphale reached out and touched the man's shoulder. "I think you should call your sister," he said. "I imagine she and her family would enjoy taking part in your celebrations here together this year."

"That's actually a good idea," Preston said. "I…wait a minute, how did you…?"

But Aziraphale and Crowley were already slipping away, leaving a slightly baffled Preston in their wake.

They walked out into the chilly winter morning, snow falling softly—also Aziraphale's doing, because after all, a white Christmas was the best kind.

"Well, I'd say that went all right," Crowley said.

"I'd say so," Aziraphale said, still beaming from the scene they had left.

Crowley glanced over at him. "Thanks, angel."

Aziraphale smiled back. "Oh, don't mention it. It's my duty, after all."

Crowley shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Want me to drive you back to the bookshop, then?"

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale said. "And you should stay! I have a lovely bottle of wine that would be perfect for a celebration! Unless you had something else to do?"

"Nah," Crowley said. "What is a demon gonna do on Christmas? I'd love to share a glass of wine."

And the angel and the demon strode off toward that bottle of wine, as all around them all was, for a little while anyway, at peace with the world.


End file.
